Robert's Story
by InnocenceIsDark
Summary: Modern AC, High School onwards. Robert de Sable has spent his entire life with his alcoholic, abusive father Jacques. His childhood and innocence was stolen by the abuse and the crimes he had witnessed. When Robert takes his revenge, his life changes entirely... Contains swearing, violence, etc.


- The story of Robert de Sable is told... -

Robert glared out the car window, ignoring the angry ranting of his father as he watched the neighborhood flash by in a blur. The man was driving too fast, Robert knew, but if they were going to end up careening into a tree, so be it. If Jacques ended up mangled with glass stuck in him in a thousand places that would end the life of one person the Frenchman hated.

When silence filled the youth's ears, Robert looked up from his distraction, casting a glance over his shoulder to meet his father's cold grey eyes. "Are you even listening to me, Robert?" the man growled, shards of ice clinging to his voice. Frozen venom.

"_Non_," Robert grumbled, looking back out the window. The smack on the back of his head was more than expected, and the teen barely flinched, though fire blazed inside of his chest and in his eyes. He hated this. Being hit and not hitting back was the worst kind of submission next to being another man's bitch in bed.

"You disrespectful son of a bitch! Your mother would roll in her grave if she learned of the man you turned out to be."

"Like you're any better than me, _batard_?" Robert muttered in retaliation, shooting another daring glance at Jacques. "You didn't even love my mother."

The older man clenched his teeth, his knuckles growing white as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Jacques glared at the road, only moments away from stopping the car and beating the living shit out of his son; which Robert was used to. Abused as a child and currently his father's personal punching bag, Robert and his father were never on good terms. Neither was Robert's mother, who was also on the receiving end of harsh words and stinging slaps. Robert truly believed that Jacques married and had a son so that he could merely beat his wife and child to death.

It worked with Constance, but it sure as hell won't work with Robert.

Robert, knowing that he had won for the moment, gave a triumphant snort and looked out the window again. Jacques was slowing, which meant that they were drawing close to the house. It wasn't like Robert didn't know, though; as they left the Assassin part of town and passed Garnier's house – the first house in the Templar part of the neighborhood – Robert knew that they were about to pull into the driveway.

Robert didn't understand why his father such an angry, hate-filled man. Robert strived to be perfect so that he could please his demanding, impossible-to-satisfy father. Robert graduated as one of the top students in his class – colleges were offering full scholarships because they wanted him so badly. Which was surprising, considering what school the Frenchman came from; his high school was probably as corrupt as the government, maybe even more so.

Yeah, definitely more so; Principal Mario Auditore may as well be the President of the goddamned United States of America.

Robert decided that his father just liked beating others around and settled with that thought, which only had the graduate fuming, boiling under his skin.

Jacques pulled into the driveway, and before the engine was even cut Robert was out of the car and walking up to the front door, his diploma tucked under his arm, as well as his graduation robes, folded carefully and tucked into a plastic case. He would send it back to the school tomorrow.

It was late – _Dix heures et demie du soir_. The graduation only lasted until seven, but afterwards Robert had run off with some of his cronies to enjoy his last night of freedom before he was going to be locked up with his dad all summer, waiting for a good college miles away from here to accept his application so that he could get the hell out of here.

Even Templars like Robert hated it near the Quarry.

Robert opened the front door – which was always unlocked, due to his father's lack of a sense of safety – and strode into the house, tossing his things onto the couch on his way to the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Jacques shouted after his son, his voice angry. "Get back down here, you brat!"

"Fuck you!" Robert snarled in response, and ran into his room and locked the door before his father had time to catch him. Robert was tall and strong, sure, but he sure as hell didn't get that from his mother. And even at the age of fifty-three, Jacques was completely capable of beating his son into a pulp.

Thankfully, Robert had a bathroom attached to his bedroom, which meant that he wouldn't have to risk his hide and run out into the hallway to get ready for bed. The Frenchman was suddenly tired, wanting to get some sleep. Who knows, maybe a piece of ceiling would fall from above Robert's head and give him head trauma and Robert would sleep until school came around. Robert trudged into his bathroom and – for safety measures – locked that door, too.

With a sigh, he faced the sink, unable to prevent himself from looking in the mirror.

The strong, squared features that came from his mother's father; Grand-père Rosseau, a man that Robert only saw pictures of; the squared jaw and the shape of the eyes, as well as the angle of the cheekbones, all from Rosseau. The cold grey eyes belonged to Jacques; a definite. That nose was definitely from Grandpa de Sable; no one else had such a straight nose in this family. Robert's head was so closely shaved that he looked bald; it would be surprising to learn that his hair was once blacker than a raven's wing, and smooth; a close mix between his father's hair and his mother's.

Then Robert studied his scars. Three long scars along the top of his head when his father dry-shaved him during a lice epidemic in middle school. He could still feel the blood pouring down his face and head, hot and thick. Leaning back so that he could see, the Frenchman glared at a long gash along his stomach – a parting gift from Altaїr. Robert's lip curled in a snarl. Altaїr; that Assassin scumbag, Robert swore that someday his head would decorate his mantle. The young Frenchman propped his foot up on the counter and examined a scar across his knee, also a gift from Altaїr. Robert had walked with a limp for a week after receiving that wound.

Standing straight again, Robert turned on the sink and let the water warm up as he squeezed a bit of toothpaste onto his toothbrush – the Frenchman refused to brush his teeth with cold water. Even now, after so many years of abuse, he was a picky boy. He quickly dipped the bristles of the toothbrush into the warm water and parted his lips, bringing the brush to his teeth, watching himself in the mirror. The mint numbed his mouth but tasted so much better than blood when Jacques punched him and – sometimes – knocked out a back tooth.

Just as Robert was reaching for the ACT mouthwash, he heard pounding on his bedroom door.

"ROBERT DE SABLE, GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE BEFORE I BUST IN THE DOOR!" thundered Jacques' voice, muffled from the two doors blocking most sound, though still considerably loud.

"FUCK OFF!" Robert snarled back after spitting out his toothpaste. He figured that he would have to skip on mouthwash tonight. Shame, if Jacques beat him senseless Robert wouldn't be able to swish water around because it hurt to move.

The pounding on his door continued, and Robert began to debate whether or not his towel rack would make a good weapon if removed from the wall when Jacques finally burst in through the bedroom door just outside, the lock broken as the door flew open, swinging on its hinges and slamming into the wall. Robert, thinking quickly, dragged a hamper in front of the bathroom door just as his father began to pound on it.

"OPEN THIS DOOR!" Robert saw the door knob jiggle as Jacques tried it. Locked, he would discover, and he would just get angrier.

"GO AWAY!" Robert screamed back defiantly. Robert knew that his father must be blind with rage – the only other time Jacques got like this was when the man was drunk, and Robert knew it was impossible for a human being to get drunk in five minutes.

Or, at least he hoped it was impossible to get drunk in five minutes. Robert wasn't one to pay attention in Health class.

"ROBERT, DAMN YOU, OPEN THE DOOR!" The youth saw the door knob twist way too far, and a loud snapping sound as the lock broke.

_Fuck!_ Robert yanked the towel rack from the wall – really a long metal bar – feeling the cool metal in his hand and being content with it, comfortable with it. It was heavy, but useful. A better weapon than just a light piece of aluminum, this heavy thing would deal a considerable amount of damage.

"Come in here, Jacques, _I DARE YOU_!" Robert hissed, spitting at the door just as it opened a crack. He hoped that the saliva would've hit the older man somewhere, preferably the eye, but after getting spit on a few times in the past Jacques had learned his lesson and kept well away from the open crack in the door.

And come in, he did. Jacques de Sable managed to shove the door open, the hamper falling to the floor with a loud clatter of wood on tile. If only Robert had actually put his clothes_ in_ that hamper, maybe it would've been heavier. But it was too late now. Brandishing his makeshift weapon, Robert raised the towel rack, clenching his jaw as he glared defiantly at his father, the man who caused him so much pain over the years. The man who turned Robert into the man he was now.

"Get your fucking ass over here so I can_ cut it to pieces_!" Jacques snarled at his son. Robert's eyes found the prized dagger that the older Frenchman held in his right hand.

So, it comes to this, Robert thought, refusing to let his fear show. His father was definitely enraged; very angry.

And, because of whatever Robert had done to invoke Jacques' wrath, he was going to get stabbed, most likely more than once like his mother.

This sparked images of blood and screams and a body crumpling to the floor. Robert curled his lip in a defiant scowl, a surge of anger coming through him. "Why don't you come here and try, you piece of shit?" he retorted, his voice matching his grey eyes, which were like shards of ice. He could feel his hands grow slick with sweat, gripping the towel rack, but he held onto that piece of metal as if it were his very soul trying to escape him.

As Jacques advanced, Robert swung the towel rack, striking his father in the head with it. The man snarled in pain and stumbled back, his free hand flying up to grip his head, fingers curling painfully in his silver-streaked black hair. Robert felt a sense of triumph, knowing that he had inflicted pain upon his father, physical pain; the same kind of agony Robert had experienced since he was a young boy.

The last thought had Robert flying into a violent rage. Ever since he could remember, Robert's own father decorated the Frenchman's body in bruises and cuts and scars, and it felt as if they would never go away.

As Jacques lunged forward again with a snarl, Robert swung the rack again, this time putting all of his force into the action. The youth hit his father smack upside the head, a ping-sound reaching his ears as the metal hit Jacques' hard head, the man's hair not doing much to protect his skull. The man fell back and crumpled to the floor with a loud thump, seemingly unconscious, the hand holding the knife loosening. The weapon clattered to the floor, just out of Jacques' reach.

Robert drew a deep breath, the silence broken by his labored breathing. Oh, how good it felt to do that! Triumph and smugness were alight in Robert's eyes as he approached the limp form that was his father, crouching by him and tilting his head, examining his features.

Robert barely had any time to react before his father's eyes flew open and the hands closed around his throat, cutting off his air supply.

Jacques swore loudly at Robert in a mixture of French and English as his son gasped for air, real panic setting in for the first time. Jacques was smart enough to trick him, and Robert was stupid enough to fall for it. Now he was paying the price. Robert dropped the bar in his hands to reach up and grab at his father's white hands, struggling to pull them from his neck, every instinct screaming at him to escape. Yes, the large Frenchman was truly afraid of being murdered by his own father. After all, Jacques de Sable had done it before, and he could do it again.

"You little shit!" Jacques screamed in a voice hoarse with a rage Robert couldn't hope to understand. "Go to hell and tell your mother hello for me!"

_NO_. Robert refused to go down. He refused to share the same fate as Constance. Remembering the knife through the haze of panic, the teen groped for the weapon, his attempts to breathe becoming more desperate as the last bit of air escaped his lungs.

A flash of victory heated Robert from head to toe as his hand closed around the cold, hand-decorated hilt of the dagger, his fingers clenching around the metal handle so tightly his knuckles turned completely white. "_TA GUELE_!" Robert snarled hoarsely with his last breath, driving the blade deep into his own father's chest.

* * *

Translations:

Non: No

Batard: Bastard

Dix heures et demie du soir: Ten thirty in the evening

Ta guele: Shut your mouth - EXTREMELY rude

So here you go! The first installment of Robert's Story.

This is set in modern times, where all of the Assassin's Creed characters are either students or teachers in a high school. This is a spin-off of that, telling the story of Robert de Sable after graduating from high school.

I hate Robert's dad . He's such a bastard...

I hope you liked it! Reviews are welcome - it would mean a lot. Tell me what I did well, what I could do better! :)

RP UP! There is an Assassin's Creed High School RP up on zetaboards. If you want to join, here's the link to the RP itself if you would like to check it out: InnocenceisDark/index/

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Thank you so much for reading and for your support!


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